I Can Feel and I Can Cry- Oneshot
by Little Miss188
Summary: One of my first oneshots, this one about Wade's lack of acceptance back home and his role in what was supposed to be his starring solo from Grease. Please read and review, there might be more to come if you do!


**I've decided I can't commit to doing multiple chapter stories so here comes a bunch of one shots for my creative outlet! If you're reading, comment! It'd do me some good to get some critique but honestly these upcoming stories (that I cannot guarantee to be regular) are just the drabbles that I often play around with in my mind anyway put onto paper- or in this case typed up- for entertainment's sake! **

**(Sorry for the long intro, I'll get into it now)**

**I'd suggest that you read this with Glee's **_**There Are Worse Things I Could Do **_**playing in the background for the best effect!**

"_I can feel and I can cry!"_

Understanding.

No matter how profound society may claim to be nowadays, it was impossible for even my own parents to understand how I felt. Nobody could sympathise with me because I was different. I'd known since I was little that I was different; I had tried to oppress the natural feminine instinct I had and replace it was the macho behaviour men are supposed to display. But I guess that's just it, I was never meant to be a man. I never have been and never will be. In honesty, I knew all along that I was trapped in a body that should not have been mine.

Maybe that was why my parents were disappointed in me.

"He's not doing it and that's final." I could hear my Mum downstairs, almost crying in hysterics- I should never have given them the permission slip for the play- I had known it would provoke tears. Whilst I was perfectly happy with my alter ego and my parents never publically ridiculed me for my identity, they had never sat comfortably with it. Dad had never really invested much of an interest: he had an almost religious belief that I was just going through a phase. Perhaps it was easier for him to deal with it that way.

Mom, however, was a different story. She would never actually confront me about my behaviour but I could sense the worry she had for herself. What an embarrassment I was to her! She thought my behaviour was a cry for attention that neither of us received from Dad and this resulted in many an argument. Her good name was being dragged through the mud with every drag performance I gave. She never had to tell me this. When my "issues" became too much for her she found her consolation at the bottom of a bottle of vodka.

Confrontational as I was, I never approached this subject with either of them. Dad was too busy and Mom was too fragile. Our household was fragile and delicate and we survived upon pretence. Of course, we never talked about it.

My identity was a taboo subject.

I had finally felt as if I was becoming accepted in the world when I was awarded with the role of Rizzo at school, but all good things must come to an end. This was no different.

I sat, thinking all this, bordered off in my bedroom choking on my silent tears. I had heard every word of their hissed whispers and it had crucified me.

"_Bryan, will you come through here please?" my Mom had beckoned from the kitchen. Her voice was strained slightly but apart from that she sounded cheery and polite, just like any good housewife. _

_This was the calm before the storm._

_I counted the seconds between her request and my Dad's response. One, two, three. Nothing. Four, five, six. Still, nothing. Seven, eight, nine. "Bryan." Slightly louder but still almost calm. Ten. "Bryan! I need to talk to you." Desperate. _

_My Dad sighed; he was used to my Mom's impatience. "Coming darling," he replied reluctantly._

_It was seemingly silent for a few moments but I knew she was talking about me. Mom had grown used to whispering her disgust, she tried her best to hide any symptoms of imperfection, but Dad had no such knack. _

"_So let the boy do the play!" was his response. His voice was verging on annoyance as this was only a slight trifle to him. "What's the worse it could do? He's performed as a woman before and for a much greater crowd!"_

_Silence again. Quiet mutterings disguised with improvised kitchen noise._

"_You know I'm not encouraging it but what do you suppose we do? He just needs to experience it- this is one of those things he needs to do so he can look back on it and laugh. It won't last long."_

"_That's what you said five years ago." My mother hissed. "How long is "long" Bryan?! Some of our new neighbours will be attending that show and if they see Wade up there, in a dress of all things!"_

"_Then it'll be no different than any other day, he wears much worse to go to school in."_

"_It's alright for you; you can go off to work and ignore it. You don't have to face the neighbours' whispers and their sly smirks. Don't you understand they're talking about us? You've worked so hard and it's becoming discredited Bryan. People are laughing at us."_

That was when I had cracked. I could listen no more. Mom and Dad would conclude their discussion soon with no real resolution- as always- Mom would crack open another bottle and whisper her regrets into it until lulled into the peace that comes with the loss of awareness. I had heard it plenty of times before but each time it stung.

After Finn had even stood his ground with Coach Sylvester, how could I go back to him with the answer I was unable to perform because my parents would not permit it? He wouldn't be rude; he'd smile in pity but not quite manage to understand. Perhaps he'd say how unfortunate it was but that would be it. And what exactly was unfortunate anyway? My parents' denial or my situation as a whole?

I'd smile (a vacant expression) and sit down and quickly disregard any mention of the subject. To cry in front of them- so happily naive- would be the worst thing I could do.


End file.
